


Haemorrhage and Ferment

by kankqueero



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: F/M, Mandomera, canon divergence - season 2, prompt - Roadtrip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 07:07:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30119010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kankqueero/pseuds/kankqueero
Summary: "If you can't settle down here with us. . . .we could find a place." Her words have stuck with him, her voice soft and imploring. She had stepped forward and grabbed his hand. The sound of his beskar colliding, a thousand hollow bells rang out in the barn.He turns his ship around.  (( I'm late for MandOmera Week , sorry ))
Relationships: Din Djarin/Omera
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	Haemorrhage and Ferment

**Author's Note:**

> this work is not for " anti-antis " / " pro - shippers " / or anyone that creates content for ships that include incest , war criminals , and individuals abusing others . leave .

"If you can't settle down here with us. . . .we could find a place." Stepping closer to him Omera reaches out, tangling her fingers with his. He wonders what she feels, beyond the butter-soft palm of his gloves. She wonders when he last touched another person's flesh, not in violence, but with care and compassion. He pulls his hand back, it collides with his chest and a thousand hollow bells ring through the barn--beskar on beskar.  
The Child coos in his sleep. The two of them take a step away from each other.

"Think about it, I'm going to check on Winta." Omera whispers, eyes on the Child's sleeping face. Din moves to speak, but she cannot see his open mouth. Sticking to his throat like the burn of Corellian mixed drinks his words don't escape.  
Swiftly Omera leaves the room, the sound of her feet disappearing as she leaves the barn.  
In their room Winta is sound asleep, through the open door wind whistles through their home, making bumps appear on her skin. Walking toward their bed Omera pulls another blanket over Winta. Tucking the sides around her Omera cannot help but think she let him go too easily. Then again she doesn't know his name, she knows so little about him and chasing after a man is something she told herself she would never do again. Perhaps it's best to let him walk away.  
Still, she reached out to him, has few doubts that when he sets off to leave Sorgan she won't ache for him to stay. It feels like that's all she's ever doing--reaching out to him, reaching out to the community, reaching out to Winta's father, reaching out to her own father. A pointless exercise in self-abnegation. In response to her grasping hands, her father had taught her to hold a blaster, to fire straight, to find cover, to hold her breath until she needed--absolutely needed--to breathe, and then to leave without a trace. In response to her smile and kindness Winta's father, a ghost of a man, had clutched her body and soul to his own. It had taken cycles to detangle herself from him. Like slogging through muddy swamplands, his mucus sticking to her skin in layers only to dry when she left, flaking off in parts with her memories of love and affection, control and enmity.  
She had found Sorgan running from his embrace. Perhaps the swamps had called to her as he had. Unsure whether to feel sad for herself or proud of herself, she'd stepped off a ship 4 months pregnant and weary.  
The community here had taught her to nurture, the life inside of her, the grass underfoot and that which swam in the seeded ponds. At night, Winta laying on her bladder and kicking at her insides, she left her shelter to watch the krill swim. Moonlight caught the ends of endopods and refracted all the colours of light as the krill swam, she stared into deep nothingness. The brilliant blue of the shrimp reminded her of being in hyperspace.  
Their maxillipeds moved as they gather momentum to push through the water, sharp lines of cyan flowing through the dark.  
  
Two of Sorgan's moons reflected on the pond. Hours would pass, the sun rising, as she stood on swollen feet. The ache there was constant. It had been one of many.  
Unsure of what she had been looking for and unwilling to search deeper she had blamed the ruminations in the dark on pregnancy, and they had stopped once Winta had been born if only because the infant had kept her up at all hours and sleep had been semioccasional. There were offers from other parent's to take Winta in for the night, give her some time to herself and sleep deeply, but she had refused. Doubting that she would be able to sleep without Winta in arm's reach either way. She still doubts that she could sleep without Winta close by.  
Running a hand over her daughter's hair she looked at the door, craving the nothingness that she had felt staring into the water's depth, the calm that had overtaken her then.

She did not sleep that night. When the first rays of light slipped through the thickets of their home she wakes her daughter for her chores. Today they would say goodbye to the Mandolorian and his son, it would be best if the farewell was uninterrupted by the life they would lead after they left, just as they had before the two had arrived.  
Laughing children could be heard outside and with no uncertainty, the Child's coos were among them, she assumes the children are already playing with the Mandolorain keeping a close eye on them. He'd taken to babyminding for the parents, as he kept an eye on the perimeter. Their laughter, a sign that though their lives have been touched by the horrors of malevolence and greed they have endured, is still innocent and honest. Briefly makes her feel bitter, Winta tugs on her apron and asks if she can join them, the feeling sits in the back of her throat like bad spotchka. She, unable to hold their callowness against them, smiles and tells Winta to have fun.  
Dwelling on that feeling will have no positive results, so she doesn't.

The children play as the adults attend to the morning pond checks and feedings, then they gather together for lunch. After lifting the Child up and sitting him next to Winta for his meal the Mandolorain disappeared into the barn for his own. Watching his back as he walked away from them Omera felt that same bitterness rise up the back of her throat and squash the good mood she had spent the day attempting to cultivate. Deciding that bitterness was better than longing for him to sit next to them and share the meal Omera helped herself. Heavily salted the bone broth washed out the lingering feelings and warmed her from the inside.  
Knowing eyes focus on her for a moment before they turn to eat as well. The villagers where not unobservant, even Caben had picked up on her affection for the Mandolorian. Aydrea had spoken with her about it, their conversation covered by the sound of water draining from their baskets like a controlled rainstorm, but still in hushed voices during the afternoon harvest a few days ago. The encouragement from another mother there in the village, the approval, had meant more to Omera than she thought it would and bolstered her confidence. However, her confession had been less straightforward. First simply suggesting that he and his son stay with them and then last night's impetuous comment.

Caben and Stoke help load up the cart that will take the Mandolorain back to his ship. They return most of his blasters, a few will stay in the village in case the thieves return or worse--she doesn't like to think about worse, she'd avoided needing to pick up a blaster for years--, food for his journey, bottles of spotchka that are both payment and gifts in addition to what they've already given him. Hefting the boxes onto the raft and making sure they are equally balanced to not tip over takes time, but it still seems too hasty. In short order, they have packed everything on and goodbyes need to be said. Winta and the rest of the children pile up before them, their little hands grasping at his smaller ones, they tell him they'll miss him and that they'll catch frogs for him for when he returns. They remain hopeful that he will. Even as he's lifted up onto the raft he reaches out for Winta, grasping one of her fingers in his hand before he's settled on the unstable raft. Omera makes the children take several steps back, giving space for the last basket--dinner for the two to eat on their journey to the Razor Crest--to be loaded on.

She cannot bring herself to hold Winta back when she rushes forward to give the Child one last hug before he goes.  
"I'll miss you so much," her voice cracks, on the edge of tears. Omera steels herself, clenching her jaw in order to not tear up herself.  
"Thank you," she means to ask him one more time, she means to ask him for more time, but the words do not escape her. She searches for his eyes and any emotion that may reside in them, something that would make her speak up. She sees only the reflection of her own sadness.  
The Child makes his sympathetic sound, and Winta, taking it as a goodbye returns to her side. Their fingers lace together. The Mandolorian picks up his blaster and bag and adds them to the raft before sitting on it. Nodding goodbye to the village he sits. The cart is languid as it pulls away.  
She watched him, the shaking of the cart destabilizing the eye contact she presumed they were making. After all, he didn't move his head, as they disappear into the forest. It was only when Winta tugged on her wrap that she took her eyes off of the shine of his helmet.

It's months later, that she sees that same ship enter Sorgan's atmosphere. At first, she thinks she's mistaken as the damage done to it's exterior is obvious even from a distance, but it lands closer to them then to the common house to the west or south. Worry sets into her bones. She keeps an eye on where the gunship landed. At the first reflection on his helmet, still blindingly silver as the rest of his armour, she climbs out of the pond discarding her basket with the others. Too distracted by the thought of him, and the list of scenarios she's seen in her mind's eye, there are no krill in the basket, just loose blades of grass.  
The Child wobbles behind him, and Omera lets out a breath in relief. An image, one of a man who has lost his son coming to her for reprieve and her inability to give it to him because the loss of a child is irrepressible disappears along with several other's. His body is whole, his armour scuffed but not damaged, and his son is alive and unharmed as well.  
"Winta," she calls out for her daughter, not taking her eyes off of him, "Winta."  
Looking toward her mother Winta stops chasing around one of the village girls and turns, her mother isn't looking at her but toward the edge of the village. There an armour-clad traveller walks toward them, and at his side is his son. Winta breaks out in a run, overtaking her mother--legs longer after another growth spurt. She hugs the Child to her chest, he coos and hums in excitement. He is still small and his arms cannot encompass her the way she can hold his whole body to her's, but she feels his joy and affection as if they were tangible. Her mother follows her.  
"Omera," he pauses and she waits for him to speak. A moment passes and then two.  
  
Neither of them speaks. Finally, she reaches out to him, tangling their fingers. He let her hold on.  
"We can't stay long." She nods. The other children have caught onto Winta's joyous reunion and are underfoot. One of the boys releases a frog he had caught while they had been playing to hug the Child and they all chase around after it, laughing and cooing. Seeing them together again makes Omera smile and she shoos them toward the village as they try to get their hands on the slippery amphibian. Once the lot of them are under the supervision of the other adults in the village she leads the Mandolorian to her home. They take a seat, her on the bed and him on the table. The breath he takes is audible and his shoulders fall as he exhales.  
"In the Deep Core, on Tython, there is a Jedi relic that I have to take Grogu to. . . . I'd like you to come with us, I don't believe that it is good for us to do this alone," he pauses, she can hear each breath he takes, laboured and filled with dejection.  
"Grogu is immensely powerful," he pauses and his head tilts to the left," The Jedi we met with told me he is filled with anguish and anger. That good memories are few and far between in his life, but I know that here, in this community with you and Winta he is happy, and I know I should not ask you to leave the community that made you happy but. . . ."  
Standing up she walks toward him. He sits up straighter. Taking his hand in her's, she smiles at him.

Growing up in the Outer Rim Territories was an arduous task, moving between Hutt Space, Cronese Mandate, Western Reaches and back, hopping from planet to planet hoping to escape the Galactic Empire and truly any rule of law as her father had refused to be inhibited by any being, the fight on Sorgan was the first time she had defended her home and not another's bounty. She hopes to give him that one day. Knowing the history of Mandolor she doubts his childhood was unlike her's, different in some ways but similarly alienating. The skills they learned kept them alive, but they had trouble asking for help, for other's to sacrifice themselves for immaterial reasons, and they did not have homes. They want their children to live a life filled with more joy and less restriction then they did. A seemingly impossible task, but she would give up their temporary comfort to make sure that all four of them could have something more lasting. They would return to Sorgan, one day.  
"I offered, I offered to leave with you."  
"You shouldn't have."  
She shakes her head.  
"But I did and I will go to Tython with you and your son."


End file.
